


Babies In The Bunker

by coughingupfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: De-aging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coughingupfeathers/pseuds/coughingupfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester finds himself on a fairly dull day with nothing happening so he starts archiving away things. He discovers a box. De-aging happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Day In Which Sam Discovered A Box

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cuddlepuss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlepuss/gifts).



> I literally started this thing almost a year ago as a trade on deviantart. I've posted all the bits so far over there, but as the person this is for is more active over here now, I'm gonna post it here too.

It was just an average day in the bunker. With no hunts underway, for once, Sam Winchester had taken it upon himself to start cataloguing some of the things in one of the research rooms. There was no shortage of them, they were always coming across things and never quite having time to file all of them, so the rare days like this were often spent this way. With his laptop out on the desk, and a ham and salad sandwich on the counter, he was busily spending his afternoon attempting to sort the currently unidentified artefacts that they had stored.   
  
He’d already filed away a few things when he came across something that he had to take a second glance at. It didn’t seem all that interesting at first, but he still exercised caution whilst handling it. Who knew what kind of magic or curses that might be attached to it? Almost anything was possible in his line of work.   
  
The item in question was a small, oaken box, decorated with intricate carvings. It was quite possible that it was a simple music box, or had once possibly stored cosmetics or something similar. The only thing that really caught his attention was that it looked like it could easily be a couple of centuries old. Picking it up off the shelf to examine the grooves, markings and patterns on the outside, he almost immediately dropped it again. It felt like it was on fire, and he pulled his hands away instantly. He yelped loudly from both pain and sheer surprise, and tried to soothe his sore fingers.  He swore quietly to himself, unsurprised if he’d gained blisters from the touch that had lasted only a matter of seconds.   
  
But the moment that the small box hit the floor, his hands were cold. Freezing, in fact, as though he’d just spent several hours with them encased inside a glacier. The sudden temperature contrast stunned him, and set him on edge. There was certainly something suspicious about that seemingly innocent wooden box…   
  
Following this, mere moments later he could feel… a tingling sensation in his fingers. The sensation shot through his entire body remarkably quickly, down his arms and into his chest, creeping up his neck and down his spine. After just a few seconds, every last inch of skin was prickling with a feeling similar to being stabbed with thousands of tiny pins.   
  
And following that strange happening, the most unusual thing occurred.   
  
***  
  
At the kitchen table of the Men of Letters Bunker, Dean Winchester was perched, reading a newspaper. He was idly scanning through the pages of the trashy thing, attempting to find anything of interest. Maybe a new case or something similar, but he found nothing new. All that he could find was report after report of things that didn’t remotely affect or interest him. But still, it was good to keep up with what was happening in the world outside of monsters and malicious spirits every once in a while. Taking a bite of the apple pie he had beside him, he flicked the fragile paper pages. For once, he was acting remotely like a normal human that didn’t consider ganking demons as a typical day’s work…   
  
But that train of thought was sharply cut short when heard his brother’s yelp. He looked up, setting down the newspaper.   
  
“Sam?” he called out uncertainly. “Sammy?”   
  
He groaned a little. What had his brother stumbled across now?   
  
“Sammy?” he repeated gruffly, “Are you okay?”  
  
And he still got nothing in the form of a response. _Better go find out for myself_ , he thought, hauling himself reluctantly from the kitchen chair. _So much for having a normal afternoon for once…_   
  
Grumbling to himself, he left the kitchen, dragging his feet down the corridors towards the research rooms, leaving scuffmarks on the varnished floors as he went. He called his brother’s name again, praying to himself that it wasn’t anything too serious. He could only hope that it wasn’t freaky shit following them around again…  
  
This time, he did receive a reply. However, he didn’t really know what to do with it. The response he received came in the form of an excitable shriek from inside the research room. And that excitable shriek didn’t sound like it could have left the mouth of a fully grown and matured Sam Winchester. It sounded to be of far too high a pitch for that. Which didn’t sound like an awfully good thing to him.   
  
But Dean didn’t get any more time to consider this. Seconds later, what appeared to be a completely naked four-year-old boy scurried from the room and made a beeline straight for his knees. He hugged them tightly, making it for one very difficult to move, and for another making him feel rather uncomfortable. The child seemed completely oblivious to this, and looked up at him with bright, hazel-green eyes.   
  
“Deanie!” he squealed, giggling excessively.    
  
Dean looked down at the small child, thoroughly confused. Not to mention rather uncomfortable. A random child had just appeared in the bunker. How the heck had they gotten in? These rooms weren’t exactly close to the bunker’s entrance, so that also posed a question of how long he’d been in here.   
  
With a little difficulty, he crouched down in front of the toddler. He studied them for a moment before posing questions to them, careful with his phrasing.   
  
“What’s your name? And how did you get in here?”   
  
He only received an answer to his first question, and didn’t exactly know what to do with the information when he received it.   
  
“I Sammie!” the child squealed excitedly, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck in a vicelike grip.   
  
Dean choked a little from the unexpected hug, the child was stronger than he would have anticipated. He then picked the child up, propping them up on his hip and patting them on the back whilst he let it sink in what they’d just said. He stood there shaking his head for a moment, walking into the research room. Surely that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. It just had to be coincidence that this small child and his little brother shared the same first name.   
  
But when he entered the research room, he only found things that supported what he’d just been told. He spotted a small wooden box from how it had fallen on the floor. He also spotted Sam’s laptop, still open on the research pages that he had pulled up. And of course, Sam’s half-eaten sandwich on the china saucer on the desktop. And to his dismay, he also found a pile of crumpled clothes that Sam had only been wearing earlier that day. Given his crazy line of work, and how weirder things had happened before, he slowly had to accept the word of the naked four year old propped up in his arms. Or he had to for now, at least.   
  
He looked from the crumpled heap of clothes to Sam, sighing, and his face fell into a cupped hand. Why did strange shit like this have to keep following him and his brother around?   
  
“Samuel Henry Winchester, what have you done now?” he grumbled through gritted teeth, rubbing a hand through his short hair. There was only so much weird stuff that he would tolerate alone on his rare days off, and this wasn’t something that he considered one of them.   
  
Walking out into the warmly lit corridor, with little Sammy cuddling into his forearm, Dean threw back his head and yelled.   
  
“CAS! Get your feathery ass down here right now!”   
  
After a few moments, and a familiar fluttering of wings, he was greeted by the angel in a trench coat. He cocked his head to one side, confused.   
  
“Hello, Dean.” He spoke plainly, trying to get a better look at the still-naked child that he had propped up in his arms. “I did not know that you have a child.”   
  
Sam perked up immediately when he heard the familiar voice, and wriggled about when caught sight of the angel. He squeaked excitedly again, attempting to lunge out of Dean’s arms to hug him. The older man struggled to contain the squirming armful.   
  
“Cashtul! Cashtul!”   
  
Dean rolled his eyes at the excitable exclamations, trying to support his little brother. And for once, the emphasis right now being the word ‘little’.   
  
“Cas,” Dean spoke in a very serious tone, “This is Sammy.”   
  
Cas didn’t react at all to the news, looking at the shrunken Sam Winchester intently. He didn’t question Dean at all, not so much as batting an eyelid. The angel had come across things a lot stranger than his friends being de-aged without any kind of explanation. Which wasn’t exactly something that most people could say about themselves. But then again, they didn’t exactly lead lives similar to most people…   
  
“Hello Sam.” He spoke in the same monotonic voice that he always used.   
  
“Cashtul!” Sam giggled, lunging towards him again. Cas recoiled a little, apparently not understanding what he wanted.   
  
Sighing, Dean put his little brother down. He kept a firm hand on his little brother’s shoulder as he pulled off his outermost flannel shirt. Quickly, he wrapped Sammy up in it, rolling up the sleeves so that they no longer dragged along the floor. At least he wouldn’t have to run around the bunker completely naked any longer. Once the shirt was secured over the four year old’s tiny form, Dean finally let go of him. Sam appeared to be most excited about this, wasting no time in running over and hugging Castiel’s legs as tightly as possible. Castiel had no idea about how to react to this development, having had very little experience with children.   
  
“So what do you think it could be, Cas?” Dean asked, just looking down at the excitable child.   
  
Wrestling to free his knees from the child’s tight grip, Cas knelt down and placed two fingers on little Sam’s head, concentrating.   
  
“It appears to be some kind of a de-aging spell or curse, but not one I’ve come across before.” He finally responded, opening his eyes again. He stared unblinkingly at the small child.   
  
Sam giggled and took advantage of Cas’s lowered position. He flung his arms around the angel’s neck in a tight hug, gurgling contentedly. Castiel, however, with very few and rusty people skills, seemed a little surprised and quite possibly disturbed by this simple display of affection.   
  
“Dean.” Cas spoke with a hint of concern, raising his eyebrows. “Dean, your brother is trying to strangle me. Dean, please tell him to stop. I do not wish to be strangled.”   
  
Dean couldn’t resist but let out a small chuckle. The angel could be a little bit hopeless at times.   
  
“He’s a child, Cas. He wants a hug. Wrap your arms around him, that’s all he wants.”   
  
“I do not understand, Dean.” Cas replied, still trying to get up with four year old Sammy hanging from his neck, “What will this… ‘hug’ do?”   
  
Dean just rolled his eyes.   
  
“Just hug him, Cas.”  
  
Sceptically, Cas gingerly wrapped his arms around the small child. After a couple of minutes and a few giggles later, Sam let go and skipped off.   
  
“Is there anything that we can do about this, Cas?” Dean asked as Cas rose to his feet again. Cas brushed off his trench coat roughly before looking back at the older Winchester.   
  
“I would have to research the spell. It is unfamiliar to me.” He replied, looking at little Sam in a confused manner. He appeared to have been thrown completely off-kilter by the small child’s behaviour.   
  
Dean’s eyes flicked over to his little brother as well, for a moment, before back to where the angel was standing. Or at least, where he had been standing the moment before. Before he could say anything else, Cas was gone. Sighing, he walked down the corridor to pick up his little brother, calling over his shoulder to the bunker’s other resident.   
  
“Kevin! I need you to leave that tablet alone for a while!”   
  
“What…? Why?”   
  
An Asian teenager with short, dark hair appeared from the library, standing in its entrance. It took a couple of moments for him to notice that he and the elder Winchester brother weren’t alone. His eyes soon fell onto the excitable four year old squirming in Dean’s arms.   
  
“I need to go on a supply run. You’re on baby duty.” Dean responded, putting Sam down. The child lingered at his side for a few moments as Dean knelt down by him, looking him in the eye.   
  
“You be a good boy for Kevin, right Sammy?”   
  
Sam nodded enthusiastically. “’K Deanie.”   
  
With that, Dean got up, collecting his jacket.   
  
Kevin stared at them, looking like Dean smacked him in the face. He only looked down when he felt something grab his legs and found the miniature Sammy cuddling them as tightly as he could. He broke the silence with an innocent, sweet little voice.   
  
“Pway wif me, Kev-Kev.”   
  
Kevin stared hopelessly to where Dean had been moments prior, but he was already gone. This was not going to be a pleasurable afternoon for the young prophet…


	2. The Day In Which Baby Dean Needs To Put His Clothes On

After a couple of hours, Dean returned to the bunker with his arms full of things required to take care of a small child. The basic essentials like clothes, food, and other such items that would come in useful. Dumping the plastic carriers down on the kitchen table, he called out for Sammy. After a little digging in one of the fragile bags, he pulled out some of the clothes that he’d just bought.   
  
After a couple of minute’s silence, he called for Sam again. When he didn’t receive a reply, he started wondering around the bunker. He wondered to himself what was going on. Wasn’t it strange for a small child, like Sammy currently was, to stay this quiet for an extended period of time? It seemed rather strange. Well, up until he reached one of the bedrooms at the very back of the bunker. Then, he was met with a tired-sounding voice.   
  
“Dean? Dean, please don’t wake him up…”   
  
Dean relaxed. He knew that voice.   
  
Remaining quiet, he walked in. In the bedroom, he found a very tired Kevin sprawled on one of the comfortable chairs. And in his lap, there was a tiny, sleeping Sammy, swaddled up in a snug little blanket burrito.   
  
“Please don’t wake him up again, Dean,” Kevin moaned, rubbing a palm down his face, “I’ve only just gotten him off to sleep…”   
  
Kevin honestly looked like that’s what he wanted to do himself—go to sleep. He looked exhausted. Which wasn’t really surprising, considering that he seldom let himself get enough sleep from studying the demon tablet. And looking after small children is quite a tiring responsibility in itself.   
  
“Was he any trouble?” Dean asked quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He was careful to keep his voice low, in an attempt to let Sammy sleep some more.   
  
“A right little devil.” Kevin groaned, slumping back in the chair.  “He tried to eat the demon tablet…”   
  
Dean couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, laying the clothes he’d bought for the child down on the edge of the bed.   
  
“Let me take him, you look like you could do with some rest.” Dean offered, very gently plucking the Sammy flavoured blanket burrito from the sleepy prophet’s arms.   
  
Kevin nodded, grateful that the little bundle was no longer his sole responsibility. He’d never had much experience with small children before, and hadn’t really known what to do with four year old Sammy. Mostly he’d just found himself chasing Sam around making sure he didn’t break anything or hurt himself…  
  
“Yeah… I’m exhausted.” He mumbled, sinking further into the chair.   
  
Dean chuckled, taking little Sammy from the room. He left Kevin to get some of the rest that he clearly needed.   
  
***   
  
Sam eventually woke up in the middle of the night, but remained quiet for most of that time. Four year old Sammy waited until about five in the morning before he decided that he required attention, and then proceeded to spend the entire day, to the best of his ability, completely running Dean off his feet. Little Sam seemed to have this endless supply of energy, and from seemingly nothing in particular. And when Sammy wasn’t running Dean off his feet, he was driving poor Kevin up the wall whilst he tried to study some more on the demon tablet. It was only after the first or second or disturbance that the teenager gave up on the idea of studying, and spent whatever meagre energy reserves he had taking care of the small child.   
  
Honestly, tiny Sam was exhausting to be around. Adorably sweet, and ridiculously cute, but tiring. Hunting seemed like a walk in the part compared to looking after a small child. The only times of relief came when Dean managed to temporarily distract him, or when he was sleeping. And anyone could admit that he did look extremely cute when he was asleep. He just seemed ridiculously peaceful.   
  
But by the end of the day, Dean began preparing himself for the concept that Sam may be in this state for quite some time before they could resolve this. It wasn’t a conclusion that he wanted to reach, but it seemed like an inevitable one.   
  
So, he constructed a wooden crib in one of the bedrooms, and bought in significantly more baby clothes, toys and films. He got in everything that he thought he might need for a long-term spell of little Sammy. Until he could work out what was going on with his little brother, he would definitely be spending time off hunting He could only wonder how long this spell would actually last…  
  
***  
  
The answer to Dean’s question came remarkably quickly. The following morning, change occurred. Sam awoke to find himself squashed into a rather tight space. A six foot tall, fully grown Sam Winchester found himself tightly crammed into something he couldn’t recognise in a rather dimly lit room.   
  
It took him a few minutes to fully take in everything surrounding him. He had absolutely no recollection of the past one and a half days, so he was rather confused to find himself squished into what he could only guess was a small, wooden… crib?   
  
He was pretty stuck in place, with both shoulders and feet awkwardly rammed into the four corners. He attempted to wriggle free, or at least wriggle into a more comfortable position, but he couldn’t. He really could not move at all.   
  
He quietly cursed whoever had put him into this predicament. Was it some kind of a drunken prank or dare gone wrong? That was entirely possible. Otherwise, it made no sense that he was wearing nothing more than an ill-fitted diaper.  He also spotted the ruins of a wrecked baby blue romper pair of pyjamas along with him in the cradle. What was that doing there? Probably another part of the prank. He’d probably find a note somewhere saying that he was too big of a baby to fit into baby clothes, or some snarky remark like that.   
  
“Um… a little help here?” he called out, hoping that his brother, or _someone_ would hear him. Because, well… Kevin had to be here, right? This looked like one of the bedrooms in the bunker. And surely, if they’d been drinking the night before, then someone would have been drinking with them. It couldn’t have been just one person’s handiwork cramming him into the cradle.   
  
Whether or not anyone heard him, he wasn’t quite certain. But he _did_ manage to crane his neck to one side and spot someone through the open door. What he saw, however, only made him more confused than he was already.   
  
Just outside the door, he could spot a pile of clothes that he recognised as Dean’s. They were his jeans, his jacket, his shirt and shoes. But it wasn’t Dean standing over them. Instead, it appeared to be a naked five year old boy. He chuckled, running down the hall.  
  
“NAKEY TIME!” the child screamed, deciding that it would be fun to start streaking around the bunker.   
  
“Dean, you need to put some clothes on!” a familiar voice yelled.   
  
Sam was extremely relieved to hear it. The sound of Kevin’s voice was nothing short of music to his ears. Even if what he’d just said didn’t make a lot of sense. Had he just said that _Dean_ needed to put his clothes on?   
  
“No cwoes! No cwoes!” the five year old shrieked from somewhere on the other side of the bunker. Kevin’s yells seemed to follow the small child.   
  
Sam just found himself getting more and more confused over whatever was going on here in the bunker that he called home. Had Kevin really just called that child Dean? What the hell? He tried calling for help again, but was met with no reply. Someone had better make an appearance soon to first of all set him free from the restraints of the crib and second of all explain what the hell was going on.   
  
And then he thought of what he could do. Cursing his splitting headache for not allowing him to think of it earlier, he decided to pray for Cas. He’d be able to help, right?   
  
The angel took a little longer to appear than he normally did. But that wasn’t the only thing that was different about him, when he eventually appeared. He couldn’t say that he actually believed that it was the angel in question.   
  
Because when he actually appeared to Sam Winchester, he flumped onto his lap. He still had the trench coat, but he appeared to be drowning in the fabric. Why? Because the being that arrived in his lap could only have been about three to four years old.   
  
Sam wanted to scream in frustration at this point. He had to be trapped in some kind of weird dream. This could not be Castiel, and he would not accept it. He also refused to accept that the streaking, screaming five year old was called Dean. No, this was not possible. He was clearly trapped in some kind of dream. All he had to pinch himself, and he’d wake up.   
  
Wait, no. He couldn’t do that, his arms were pinned underneath him.   
  
Instead, he willed himself to wake up. He chanted the two words to himself, pinching his eyes shut. This had to be a dream. Unless…   
  
“Woah, lost your covers there buddy!”   
  
The voice was instantly recognisable, burned into his brain. His eyes shot open and he looked over to the far corner of the room. Yes, there he was. Standing at about five foot seven inches tall, and wearing a dull grey-green jacket, Gabriel was stood.  
  
“GABEY!” a little voice shrieked from his lap, and chuckles soon followed it.    
  
“Been a while since you were this small, Cas.” The trickster commented with a warm smile.   
  
He clicked his fingers, and the child perched on Sam’s stomach was instantly covered by a properly fitted trench coat, much the same as his usual one, a plain white nappy and a pair of jeans. He walked over to the crib and held the toddler in his arms, laughing softly. Propping him up on his hip, he took note of who Cas had found himself perched on.   
  
He couldn’t hold in his laughter and stood there for a couple of minutes, clutching his stomach. He wiped away a tear of mirth before looking at little Cas again.   
  
“And here in exhibit three hundred and fifty two A, we have this very rare creature in captivity! For the first time! Moose-us Doofus Ginormicus.” Gabriel announced in a very loud, amused tone.   
  
The proclamation earned him a giggle from Castiel, and an unimpressed glare from the Winchester still trapped in the crib. Chuckling still, Gabriel gently put Cas down on the floor. He clicked his fingers again, producing a small toy car which he then passed to Cas. “Go play with Dean, yeah?”   
  
“Kay Gabey.” The child replied, tottering off out the door to discover where his playmate was hiding.   
  
Sam glared at the archangel standing in front of him.   
  
“Gabriel.” He growled, “You’re behind all of this, aren’t you?”   
  
Gabe raised his hands defensively, taking a couple of steps back.   
  
“I’m hardly going to ignore my baby brother. He’s just a fledgling, who knows what might happen to him around you knuckleheads. I’m just as stumped as you are as for what’s going on here.”   
  
Sam raised his eyebrows. Unable to ignore his brothers when they needed him? That didn’t sound like the archangel that he’d met beforehand. He hadn’t thought twice about zapping Castiel off into dangerous situations that he may or may not survive beforehand, so why should that change now?  
  
“What?” Gabe folded his arms, “I’m sentimental. It’s a long time since any of my brothers were this small.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. Whatever, the reason behind Gabriel appearing wasn’t important. There was finally an adult in the room with him that he could talk to. “Can you help get me out of this?”   
  
The response that Gabriel gave was simply clicking his fingers. All of a sudden, the latch on the side of the cot was undone, causing Sam to tumble out onto the floor. But as he fell, the ill-fitted diaper also fell off. That then left Sam on his hands and knees, kneeling completely butt naked on the floor.   
  
Gabriel quickly shielded his eyes with a hand.   
  
“I didn’t want to see that!”   
  
He sharply clicked his fingers again, and Sam was suddenly fully clothed. Much to the relief of much of them, it must be said. Sam had never intended to expose that much skin to the archangel, and Gabriel had never desired to see that much skin either.   
  
“You should go attend to your brother.” Gabriel spoke quickly, clearly attempting to change the subject matter. “He’s driving the prophet up the wall.”


	3. The Day In Which Baby Cas Is An Ass To The Impala

“So what exactly happened to them?” Sam asked, desperately trying to clothe his brother… who wasn’t exactly fond of the idea. Dean kept on squirming and trying to run off, stamping on Sam’s feet and elbowing him in the thighs. He made it as plainly obvious as he possibly could that he, Dean Winchester, had no desire whatsoever to wear anything at all.   
  
“De-aging spell… curse… that’s what Cas said.” Kevin grumbled, rubbing his temples. It was clear to tell that he hadn’t been sleeping properly. “It started with you the day before yesterday. One minute you were cataloguing things, next minute you yelled, minute after… you were four years old.”   
  
“I… what?” Sam blinked, confused. It almost seemed like he hadn’t fully heard Kevin speak.  
  
“You heard me.” Kevin groaned. “You spent a day and a half as a four year old. And you were a right little nightmare. You tried to eat the demon tablet, amongst other things.”   
  
Chuckles emerged from the other end of the table, from where Gabriel was perched. He propped up Cas a little higher on his knee. The struggles the hunters were having with small children seemed to amuse him endlessly.   
  
“No cwoes.” Dean repeated adamantly, pulling off his shirt for the sixth consecutive time.   
  
“No clothes, no pie.” Sam sighed, giving up on clothing his brother. If he wanted to be naked all day, fine. But he couldn’t have pie for breakfast if that was his attitude. He walked over to the cupboards, pulling out some bread to make toast.   
  
“Pie!” Dean shrieked, trying to clamber onto one of the kitchen chairs.   
  
“Clothes first.” Sam stated firmly, gaining a sulk from his brother. “You can’t have pie if you won’t wear clothes.”   
  
The bribery seemed to work, however, because Dean then reluctantly pulled on his little tartan shirt and shoes that Sam had spent so long battling to put him into. He also pulled on the denim overalls that Sam had found out, walking over to the tired Kevin and asking him for help with the buttons. Once dressed, he again tried to clamber onto the chair beside the archangel. He didn’t want to wear clothes today, no. But if wearing clothes meant that he could have some pie, then it appeared that he could tolerate them.   
  
Nodding in approval, Sam removed a slice of apple pie that was still in the fridge and set it down on a saucer for his brother.   
  
“Bugga.” a small voice requested from Gabriel’s lap. The little Cas looked up at his big brother, making eye contact. “Bugga pweese, Gabey.”   
  
Gabriel chuckled, snapping his fingers. That instant, one of Cas’s favourites – a cheese and bacon burger – appeared in front of him. This gained a small giggle from Cas, and a chirpy little “Fank you!”   
  
Sam turned back, pulling a fork from the dishwasher. He frowned at the sight of the burger.   
  
“A burger? For… breakfast?” he questioned the archangel.   
  
“Never harmed him first time round.” He shrugged, “Did the exact same thing and he turned out alright. Well, if you ignore the believing he was god phase and smiting everything in sight. Was just a phase. He’ll be fine. Besides, pie for breakfast is hardly any better.”   
  
Sam accepted the archangel’s point, and wordlessly handed the fork and saucer of pie to Dean. He then frowned as though something had occurred to him, passing cups of steaming coffee to the Gabriel and to Kevin. Taking a third one, he set it down on the space on the table opposite Dean, and got his toast. Taking his seat and a weary bite, he gave the angel a quizzical glance.   
  
“The first time around?”   
  
Gabe looked at him as though it was obvious.   
  
“Who do you think raised the fledglings when daddy wasn’t around? Team effort, mostly myself and Lucifer. Balthazar sometimes pitched in with Cas and a couple of the other little ones when he was old enough. Someone had to raise them. And… they’re cute when they’re this small.” He shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee Sam had given him. “Just because you knuckleheads don’t know how to handle children doesn’t mean that I don’t.”  
  
Kevin choked on his coffee.   
  
“L-Lucifer? Lucifer raised the fledglings?”   
  
Gabriel looked at the prophet somewhat indignantly. He looked rather offended at Kevin’s comment.   
  
“Lucifer did a good job raising me. Better job than Raphael and Michael put together. Better job at raising the fledglings than any of us, actually. Just humans he can’t tolerate.”  
  
Sam shook his head a little, looking back at Kevin.   
  
“Do you know anything about this de-aging spell… whatever it is?”   
  
Kevin shook his head. “Dean tried researching it but found nothing. It’s not your regular aging spell, that’s what Cas said. I can only guess it’s something to do with one of the items you were cataloguing…”   
  
Deep in thought, Gabriel pressed two fingers to his brother’s head whilst he was contentedly eating the burger summoned to him. He remained silent for several moments, deep in concentration.   
  
“Whatever it is, it’s very powerful. I can’t say it’s something that I recognise either.” He opened his eyes, watching the two little ones eat.   
  
Silence again consumed the kitchen. An archangel couldn’t come up with anything that had done this. It had been worrying enough that Dean hadn’t been able to pull up anything with his research, and that Cas hadn’t known what to do. But Gabriel, an archangel, was also clueless? That just seemed like a cause worthy to panic about.   
  
Sam kept his cool, however, and continued eating. There was no point trying to think on an empty stomach, at any rate. That simply wouldn’t work. And of course, they did now have the benefit of an archangel hanging around. That combined with the many books and folders written and filed by the Men of Letters, they’d surely be able to find something. Well… wouldn’t they?   
  
***  
  
The day dragged by extremely slowly. Sam quickly grew tired of stopping Dean breaking things, pulling Kevin’s hair, pouring things on the floor and just generally making the bunker an occupational hazard just to inhabit. It was hard enough just having a five year old Dean to handle. Having little Castiel around, however? It seemed like the worst nightmare imaginable.   
  
Fledglings still seemed to have all of their powers that regular angels possessed. The one thing that they didn’t have? The proper ability and knowledge about to control them. Which was what made things interesting…  
  
Every single time Cas sneezed, a set of tiny inky blue-black wings would appear from the backs of his shoulders. There was apparently nothing painful about that happening, because his wings were there all the time. But the sudden change and shock would always, without fail, make him cry.   
  
Every single time he farted or burped, he’d teleport and find himself sitting upside down on the ceiling. Admittedly, sometimes it must have hurt. He’d gained a habit of eating and drinking just about anything too fast, which of course gave rise to the issue of trapped air. In turn, he’d often wind up crying because of that too.   
  
That was rather problematic. Because every single time that he cried, he would not hold back. Because baby angels do not cry quite like baby humans do. The walls would shake and any glass objects within five feet of the wailing fledgling would shatter instantaneously. The shrieking would be described as ear-splitting and dangerous for humans to be subjected to. The responsibility of stopping the fledgling’s tears then fell onto the shoulders of the only one who could physically handle the high-pitched screams. That creature was Gabriel. And so, whenever he cried, everyone else would have to cover their ears whilst Gabriel sought him out and then set to calming him down again. It never took the archangel long, because of his experience with fledglings, but in those few minutes when Castiel wailed… everyone in the bunker would be at his mercy. And if anyone had actually thought about, was an awful lot of power for a baby of any kind to have over them.   
  
So, Sam was rather thankful that Cas appeared to be a quiet and calm baby. Most of the time, he was content to sit and play with toy cars, or sit quietly with him or Kevin or Gabriel and watch cartoons. Sam had at first wondered why Gabriel was so willing to help when a screaming fledgling would be a fantastic weapon to use against them, and but he came up with three possibilities as for why he was so compliant. The first he came up with was that it would work in Gabriel’s favour to have one of the Winchesters in his debt. Secondly, he considered how the archangel would explain to Castiel, once he was back to normal, why exactly he hadn’t helped and that they had subsequently received permanent hearing problems or worse. And finally, he considered if it actually hurt the archangel to hear his younger sibling cry. As much as he wanted to write off that idea, he had enough evidence to back it up. Gabriel himself said that he had raised and was fond of fledglings, and that he was “sentimental”.   
  
Whatever his motives, Sam was grateful. Gabriel never failed to stop the crying, and all of them could then resume whatever it was that they had been doing prior. It was a simple arrangement that all of them seemed content enough to follow, and so that’s what they did.   
  
And Castiel was calm most of the time…   
  
***   
  
Sam was awoken suddenly from his light slumber. His ears pricked up at the sound, identifying it fairly quickly, and his eyes widened. That sounded an awful lot like breaking glass.   
  
He shot up from how he’d been napping on the couch, little Dean playing with a couple of plastic toy trucks and cars near his feet. He looked at his brother for a single moment, before he made a split second decision to leave Dean for a couple of minutes and investigate the source of the noise. He was scared to think what would have happened. Dean would be safe for five minutes whilst he found out about it, right?   
  
It didn’t take long to find what had happened. As soon as Sam set foot outside the bunker, he saw precisely what had caused the disturbance. And he groaned when he did. Honestly?   
  
Castiel was acting up. It was quite possibly because he was bored or wanted attention. But somehow, that thought didn’t make what Sam found any more of a pleasant discovery.   
  
Castiel was sitting on top of Dean’s precious 1967 Chevy Impala, Baby. He was wearing nothing more than a pair of red underwear, blue tshirt with a cartoon bee on it, and the majority of a jar of honey. The smashing sound had apparently been the glass jar, which lay in pieces on the bonnet, boot and floor. The clear, runny honey was dripping down over his legs, the top of the car and down the sides. He was sitting there quite contentedly, giggling as he was slowly becoming surrounded by bees. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that a very unimpressed Sam Winchester was standing there, just staring at him. He appeared to be at a total loss for words.   
  
“Bees.” Cas reached a sticky, slightly pudgy hand out to pet some of them. He was completely fascinated by the tiny flying critters that surrounded him.   
  
Sam didn’t even know what to say. When Dean reverted back to his normal self, he would be so, so pissed about this… his precious baby being wrecked like this…   
  
“Cas?” Sam finally made himself say. He stared in exasperation at the sight of the car in front of him. It would take _forever_ for him to get it clean again.   
  
Cas only then realised that Sam was there, and laughed again. He clapped his hands happily, looking at him.   
  
“Bees.” He repeated, trying to grab one. He lunged forward a couple of times, slapping and clapping at the air. He tried several times to grab one before he finally managed it. That, however, wasn’t a good move. The bee in question didn’t want to be restrained in that way, apparently feeling threatened as it was clenched tightly in the small sticky space. After a couple of angry buzzes of warning and the child still didn’t let it go, it stung him on the palm of the hand.   
  
It worked and the critter was finally free, but at the cost of its little life. Cas sharply let go of the bee, but immediately started crying. He was only just discovering the fact that bee stings hurt.   
  
Sam sharply rammed his fingers in his ears and tried to block out the wailing, sinking to his knees. He could feel them become grazed upon sudden contact with the cement, but he had bigger things bothering him than slightly bloody grazed knees. He flinched as the windows of the impala shattered from the fledgling’s wails. He felt himself curl into a little ball, or at least as little as he could, in some kind of a defence mechanism. He found himself muttering to himself in quiet, desperate prayer.   
  
_Where are you? Gabriel, please, calm him down…_   
  
It didn’t take long for it to be answered.   
  
“Woah there buddy, calm down.”   
  
For one of the few times in his life, Sam could safely say that he was glad to hear the sound of the archangel’s voice. With a snap of his fingers the mess was on top of and around the car fixed. The windows of the impala thankfully back in one piece and no traces of honey left on the black paint. Cas was also no longer covered in honey.   
  
He extended his arms out to his big brother, sniffling. Gabriel obliged and the little fledgling was quickly picked up. Gabe propped up Cas on his hip, shushing quietly whilst rubbing the back of his shoulder. He spoke in hushed but calming tones, quickly quietening the wailing toddler with apparent ease. With a faint smile to Sam and a few last words of comfort to Cas, the archangel carried the fledgling back indoors.   
  
Sam sighed, pulling his fingers from his ears and brushing off his knees. He looked to the scene before him, secretly grateful for the archangel. He might be a pain in the ass sometimes.. in fact he often thought of him much worse than that. But right now, he was extremely grateful that he wouldn’t be the one required to fix the impala, chase away the bees or clean up the spilt honey and shattered glass. That would be one less nightmarish thing to inform Dean of when he returned to his normal self.


	4. The Day In Which Baby Kevin Demands A Bottle For A Baby Archangel

Sam was slowly giving up on the idea of sleeping. When he wasn’t caring for the little ones, he was hunched over the old files in the bunker, trying to find an answer for what was happening. It was almost two days now that Dean and Castiel had been toddlers, and he was becoming desperate. Kevin had been sceptical that they’d find anything in those old files if the archangel knew nothing, but Sam wasn’t giving up that easily. There had to be something, right? Something, crammed away in some distant corner somewhere. There had to be something. Because strange objects like this never just appear; everything has a creator. Every last object or creature had been made by something. Even the angels were forged by God. So this dumb little box, the only lead that they so far possessed, had to have some kind of maker.

He screwed his face up as he remembered the small object, so seemingly innocent when he first looked at it. But of course, things were never that simple. He should have known that the things that look the most innocent are often the most dangerous. Just like Belladonna, baby Castiel, and of course this little wooden box.

So now, at half past midnight, he was perched at the kitchen table. He had one of the old files laid out in front of him, skimming through every last page. And even though he was only skimming them, it still took a long time. Even so he pressed on, determined to find something. He would find something on this dumb, decorative wooden box.

It’s in this file… He continually promised himself this, every time he closed the last folder and grabbed the next one. It’s definitely in this file…

He continued like this for many hours into the night, before his body at last gave up on him.

***

When the morning came, Sam received a rather rude awakening. He blinked several times, the light from the kitchen window that shone down onto him blinding him as he struggled with his eyelids to keep them open. He sat himself upright, looking down at the open file that he’d used as a pillow. His head was throbbing as he tried to remember what had happened the night before. Seriously, he had not gotten enough sleep to be woken up this early in the morning…

He was broken from that train of thought, however, as he felt something bat against his arm.

He looked down to the location of it. He rubbed his eyes, not quite certain of what he was seeing. Could it just be his tiredness making him see things?

Another slap on his arm told him that no, he clearly wasn’t.

“Bop-bul.”

Sam blinked again, looking down at the toddler standing in front of him. Little tufts of black hair, tiny dark eyes shining brightly with the innocence of youth, and apparently stark naked asides from a t-shirt that seemed to drown him. He had a clear plastic baby bottle in his hand, which is apparently what he’d been batting Sam’s arm with. It took a couple of moments before Sam could connect his thoughts with his mouth to talk again.

“…Kevin?” he finally asked, looking down at the toddler.

“Bop-bul.” He repeated, not answering Sam’s question.

Sam sighed.

“You thirsty, Kev?” he wearily rose to his feet, rubbing his temples. He decided just to accept what he was seeing. Enough changes had gone on over the past few days that it seemed possible that it was possible that the prophet was now a child, and he chose not to question it. He took the bottle from the child’s hand. Judging from his height, he looked to be about two.

“No.” Kevin replied sharply.

His reaction was very pointed and unmistakable. Sam turned back to look at him strangely. He wasn’t thirsty? Then what did he want a baby bottle for?

Kevin answered Sam’s unspoken question, blinking at him expectantly.

“Gabey want bop-bul.”

Sam froze at that statement. Had he heard little Kevin correctly? Gabey? Please let him have misheard that.

“W-who wants the bottle, Kevin?” Sam tried to speak calmly, unable to keep a slight waver from his voice.

“Gabey.” Kevin repeated, looking at him plainly. “Gabey-ul.”

Sam’s heart plunged to the pit of his stomach. He started praying to himself one single phrase over and over, dreading for it to be true. Please, don’t let this mean what I think it means. Don’t let it mean what I think it means.

Having baby humans and baby angels had been challenging enough. Please, don’t let this mean that they had a baby archangel on their hands… But what else could it mean, really? Little Dean and little Cas had both been brought back big enough to use sippy cups, so what would Gabriel need a baby bottle for…?

He was broken from that train of thought with one ear-splitting wail from down the hall. Sam dropped the bottle and fell to his knees, already recognising what this was. This was the crying of a baby angel. But if it was possible, this screaming seemed even more unbearable than little Castiel’s wails had been. So who could this be if it wasn’t Cas…?

Please, someone. I don’t care who. Anyone, just stop him crying.

Sam spoke his prayer through gritted teeth, pinching his fingers as tightly as he could into his earlobes. He hated the sound of babies crying anyway, but this was nothing short of completely unbearable… literally…

The wails only lasted a matter of moments, his prayer being responded to remarkably quickly. Perhaps it was the unexpected wailing, the nature of his prayer, or just the plain obscurity of everything. Because there was no rhyme or reason as for why there should be an infant fledgling at the men of letters bunker, crying its eyes out. But of course, for some reason, there was.

And that brought a fluttering of wings and an angel running to the scene in mere moments. In a matter of seconds, the bunker was calm again.

Sam gave himself a couple of minutes before attempting to get back up, taking in his surroundings again. The wailing had disorientated him a little and made his head spin, so he had to recompose himself. He noticed little Kevin crying, and so took him into his arms as he rose to his feet. He rubbed the back of the shoulders of the two year old prophet, facing the doorway to the kitchen. And that was the point when he realised that they weren’t alone.

There in the doorway stood the angel that had stopped the baby’s cries and saved his eardrums. The shoulder of his black blazer was now damp from the tears of the baby he had propped up in his arms. He looked venomously at the elder Winchester, supporting the six month old in his arms. It seemed a strange sight to him, Balthazar holding a baby. It looked almost alien, really, something that he’d never have once imagined him doing.

“I do hope you have a good explanation for this.” He spoke coldly, every last syllable dripping with tones of how unimpressed he was.

And Sam couldn’t help but wonder what was in store for him if he couldn’t supply a reason that Balthazar deemed as “good”.

***

Sam rubbed his temples, attempting to soothe the raging headache that was fast developing. He now had Dean and Castiel returned to their normal size and maturity, the former demanding answers. Dean was demanding as for why Sam had left him and Cas in a small child’s cot, completely naked—asides from the scraps of fabric that had once been children’s pyjamas. He seemed to have temporarily forgotten the de-aging curse that had befallen Sam, and so it seemed completely absurd that one had just affected him and Castiel.

Balthazar had taken a seat at the kitchen table, propping up the infant—Gabriel, they had deduced—whilst also demanding to know what the hell was going on. And of course, Sam was the one left with supporting the two year old Kevin on top of all of this. That wasn’t such a difficult thing, though—Kevin was quite content to perch on Sam’s lap and munch at the bits of jammy toast that Sam had made for him. The only downside to this seemed to be that two year old Kevin was quite a messy eater, getting strawberry jam on everything.

And after two days of trying to tolerate the crazy antics of little Dean and Castiel, Sam found himself starting to wear thin.

“It’s a de-aging spell, Balthazar. No, I don’t know what caused it. It started with me, then it was Dean and Cas, now it looks it’s Gabriel and Kevin. Gabriel didn’t know what had caused it, either. I’m going through every last file here in the bunker trying to work out what might be behind this.” Sam snapped. He continually rubbed at his temples and eyelids, tired from multiple nights of little sleep and frustration at everyone’s inability to listen to him.

Really, it was a good thing that Kevin was all too happy to play with his breakfast and wasn’t paying much attention to the man he was sitting on. He should be trying to make him eat it a little more intently, Sam thought to himself, but he wasn’t especially bothered about it right now. There were certainly other things bothering him more than if the prophet ate his jammy toast or not.

“Well do you have any idea how to stop it?” Dean interjected, “If this is the third time it’s de-aged someone then—”

“I’m working on it, Dean. Why do you think I’ve barely slept for the past two nights? I’ve been fruitlessly going through every last file in this bloody bunker, trying to find something about how to stop this thing!” He smacked his fist down on the table, grabbing everyone’s attention. “And all the while we had Cas smashing honey jars over the impala to bring around all the bees he possibly could, and you were streaking and doing just about everything possible to make my life even more difficult! No, I haven’t yet figured out how to stop it.”

Dean raised his hands defensively.

“Okay man, sheesh. Just asking you a question…”

Kevin stopped eating for a moment to look over his shoulder at Sam, raising a pair of slightly scared, innocent dark brown eyes. His little outburst appeared to have distracted him from his breakfast. Whether or not Kevin ate it wasn’t what bothered Sam, it was the fact that he’d distracted and upset him.

Sighing, he took a couple of deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down a little. He took one of the sticky slices of toast and held it back out to the toddler prophet. He waved it from side to side before guiding it towards the toddler’s mouth.

“Here comes the aeroplane…” Sam said softly, causing Kevin to giggle. Suddenly, he wasn’t worried or upset about Sam’s outburst anymore, and seemed to forget all about it. He gladly took the food from Sam’s hand, going back to his breakfast.

Relieved, Sam looked back at Dean, Castiel and Balthazar. It was very tempting to lose his temper at this point, but he forced himself to remain calm for the toddler that was perched on his lap.

Balthazar spoke, looking at Sam irritably.

“So what were you doing when this… happened?” he looked displeased, propping up the baby Gabriel in his arms a little better.

Sam frowned, propping his chin up on the back of his hand, thinking.

“I was filing things away in one of the research rooms.” He said after a few minutes, straining his memory, “I picked up this little box, filing it away just like everything else. But it felt… strange, like it was on fire or something, and I dropped it. I don’t remember anything else.”

Balthazar frowned and rubbed his chin, apparently thinking. He leaned back a little in the chair he was perched on, cocking his head to one side. Gabriel slapped his cheek a couple of times with a slightly sticky, pudgy hand, but he ignored him. He seemed to be a little impatient.

“Do you know where this “box” is?” he finally asked, sitting back up properly on his chair. He almost fell off of it immediately afterwards, however, when the infant in his arms burst out crying again. He straightened himself up immediately afterwards, rubbing Gabriel’s back and hushing him quietly, trying to calm him down. The child’s cries seemed to be physically hurting him too, although not as much as any of the humans in the room. It was little Kevin, who’d now fallen on the floor from Sam’s lap, who seemed to know what was wrong. While still crying and curling into the moose-man that was had been him, he extended one arm out to the angel holding the wailing fledgling, holding the empty plastic baby bottle.

Gabriel still hadn’t been fed.

Castiel was the one who noticed this, and took the bottle from the prophet. He promptly vanished for a moment, returning with the bottle filled with baby formula. Cas held it out to Balthazar, wincing, who was still trying to stop the pitiful wails. Upon noticing the baby bottle, Balthazar snatched it from Castiel’s hand and started to feed Gabriel, relief washing over him when the fledgling suddenly quietened.

The crisis had been averted.

It took a few moments for the humans to regain their composure. Sam was the first to sit up, remembering Balthazar’s question from before the archangel’s little outburst. He rose to his feet, mumbling as he left the kitchen.

“I’ll… see if I can find that box I was talking about.”

Dean quickly picking up Kevin, who was still at this point on the kitchen floor from where he’d fallen, before he had a chance to start crying and set Gabriel off again. Kevin clung onto the elder Winchester’s shoulder, looking over at the infant archangel.

“Don’t cwy Gabey. Balfy have you.” He reached over Dean’s shoulder in an attempt to touch Gabriel, but he was a little too far away and almost fell from Dean’s arms. Before that could happen, Dean re-adjusted how he was holding the miniature prophet, and sat him back down at the table, fetching the toddler’s breakfast for him to finish eating it.

And though he didn’t show it outwardly, Kevin’s comment made a small smile tinge on Balthazar’s lips as he continued feeding up the fledgling in his arms.


	5. The Day In Which Lucifer Is Unimpressed That His Brother Has Become A Baby Again

The day dragged on by. Gabriel had now been an infant for a day and a half, and Sam was tired of it. Much like a regular child, he required feeding and comfort, and was in the very uncomfortable stage of teething. Thankfully, angels could eat practically anything, even with the absence of proper teeth. Despite this, Gabriel still had very distinct preferences about what he wanted—and that was little more than candy. So far, Dean had successfully managed to feed him two bags full of pink and white marshmallows, half a bag of white chocolate buttons, and half a punnet of candy floss. It was hardly healthy, but it was all that he seemed willing to munch on. And the consequence of trying to feed him something he didn’t want? He’d start screaming, naturally. Even little Kevin had started to recognise that his screams meant he wanted candy, and more often than not tried to resolve any bout of crying with shoving a marshmallow in his mouth. In that respect, the baby archangel was very easily catered for.

But unfortunately, it seemed, he was also in the early stages of growing feathers on his six stubby little wings. So far, they looked like chicken wings, but covered in a fine coating of light gold fluff. This, like teething, was an incredibly uncomfortable period of time, and he had no problems letting the entire bunker, and area surrounding the bunker, know that he was in immense discomfort.

Balthazar had agreed to stay during the period of time that Gabriel was this small—just as much for the benefit of the little archangel as the Winchesters and tiny prophet. Castiel was only other being present who could physically tolerate the screams, but had little to no experience with fledglings… and therefore little to no experience with how he was supposed to handle or console them when they were upset. So whenever Gabriel cried, it became Balthazar’s responsibility to console the little one. Most of the time, he was successful at it, calming Gabriel down to the point where he no longer cried.

This time was different. Gabriel, after somehow undoing the catch, had fallen out of his cot and started wailing as soon as he hit the floor. That was almost half an hour ago now, and Gabriel was refusing to stop crying, and nothing that Balthazar was doing made any difference to that whatsoever. This concerned the angel in question, because although he wasn’t the most experienced with fledglings—far from it, actually—but he had always managed to calm down an infant angel down before now. He began to wonder if it was something that was specific to archangels that was upsetting him, and therefore something he wouldn’t think to check. And if that was the case, it would need to be an archangel that he’d need to consult…

Swallowing, Balthazar muttered a call under his breath. He decided to call one of his elder brothers, an archangel, although he wasn’t entirely sure of how to explain the situation should he arrive. But considering that he was an archangel, who had undoubtedly helped to raise Gabriel the first time around, he would know what to do at this moment in time. The prayer had scarcely slipped past his lips when he sensed that he was no longer alone.

Turning around, he spotted the elder brother that he’d contacted. Lucifer stood there, looking somewhat confused at the fledgling in Balthazar’s arms. Wordlessly, he took the infant from his brother’s arms and started cooing softly, running cool fingers down between his stubby little wings. It took him a matter of seconds to decipher what the matter was, and with a soft popping sound and a quiet wail later, and Gabriel was calm again. Lucifer smiled softly, it having been a very long time– centuries, even –since he had held a fledgling in his arms, and had taken in the soft little smiles that often graced their delicate features. Looking back to Balthazar, his smile slowly faded.

“What did this to Gabriel?” he spoke shortly, somewhat accusingly.

Balthazar swallowed, looking back at his brother. “He somehow managed to undo the catch on his crib and fell from it, he’s been crying ever since.”

“I didn’t mean what dislocated his wing.” He corrected, a dark look in his ice blue eyes, “What turned my millennia’s year old sibling back into a fledgling?”

Lucifer’s tone was calm, but Balthazar knew that that wasn’t a good sign and was potentially dangerous. The devil would not hesitate in taking his head if he thought that someone had hurt one of his siblings. Especially one of his fellow archangels.

“The Winchesters believe that it’s some kind of de-aging spell or curse that’s been affecting them for the past few days. It’s not permanent, it’s already affected both Winchesters and Castiel, and they are back to their usual selves now.” Balthazar cleared his throat again, answering a little shakily. It was the truth as he knew it, but he didn’t know if Lucifer would believe him. His mouth only grew drier at the thought of what the Morningstar might do if he thought that he was lying to him.

Lucifer raised his eyebrows at his brother before slowly looking back to the infant in his arms. It had been millennia since he had last held an infant archangel… and last time it had been Gabriel, considering that he was the youngest.

“And do they know the cause, or how to reverse it?” he replied in a sharp tone, gently tucking a couple of golden strands of hair off of the fledgling’s forehead.

Balthazar shook his head. “They remain uncertain. Sam believes that it’s a cursed item that he was filing away, but they don’t know. None of us have been able to identify the cause. Even Gabriel, apparently, before his transformation.”

With a sigh, Lucifer cradled Gabriel in the crook of his arm, looking back at the angel standing before him. He cocked his head to one side, seemingly studying his sibling for a moment. He took a couple of steps forward and closed his eyes, placing two fingers on the angel’s forehead as he read his thoughts. A few moments later –something that felt like hours to Balthazar – he removed them again, giving him a look full of regret. He knew that Balthazar was being honest with him and genuinely didn’t know. Which wasn’t helpful in the slightest, really, but left Balthazar able to breathe freely again with the knowledge that the Devil didn’t blame him for this.

With a slight grumble, Lucifer left his brother alone, searching for one of the Winchesters to demand an answer from.

***

Having gotten lost twice in the maze of passages and pathways in the bunker, Lucifer was finally able to find someone. He was able to find two someones, actually, although one of them didn’t exactly seem very conversational right now. Lucifer could recognise one of them immediately—his true vessel, Sam Winchester, was passed out on the kitchen table, using one of the bunker’s old lore books as a pillow. He looked curiously at the second person, however, his archangel instinct telling him that he needed to protect them. He glanced down at the two year old, sensing that this wasn’t just an ordinary child.

Lucifer quickly snapped up a travel cot and clipped Gabriel into it. He left the cot on the table as he proceeded to crouch down in front of the toddler, cocking his head to one side.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly, blinking a couple of times. He was fairly certain he’d never met the child before, but something seemed familiar about him.

The two year old hesitated before he replied, looking strangely at the man in front of him.

“Me Kev’n.”

Lucifer cocked his head to one side in a way reminiscent of his brothers.

“What’s your last name?”

The toddler looked at him oddly. It looked, for a moment, that he’d go without a reply, but soon enough he gave a meek little reply.

“Twan.”

Lucifer paused, the name taking a few moments to register. What was it that made the child special? A part of him, locked away in some part of his celestial subconscious, told him that he had to protect the child at all costs. But why…?

When the name finally sunk in, it was obvious. Despite his hatred of humans, he was hardwired as an archangel to defend a prophet of the lord. But why was he so small? Prophets were never activated until a certain age, and that age was definitely not any time within infanthood…

His eyes fell to Gabriel again, snoozing lightly in the travel cot, and it suddenly made sense. If this cursed object had the sufficient power to successfully de-age an archangel, then a measly human would be no problem for it whatsoever. Recognising how vulnerable the prophet was, Lucifer slowly scooped the two year old into his arms. It felt peculiar, at first, knowing that this child wasn’t an angel but still cradling it in his arms. But after a few moments, some of the instincts from his vessel, Nick, started kicking in, making it a far less peculiar sensation.

His eyes flicked back to his true vessel, Sam, who was still using the old lore book as a pillow. He considered waking him up for a moment, going so far as to tap his shoulder. But the devil didn’t consider that he might get slapped by the toddler in his arms for doing such. He was a little taken aback for a moment, surprised by the sudden impact on his right cheek. He wasn’t hurt at all, just… a little stunned. Looking closely at the little prophet, he realised that it had been entirely accidental – he’d moved his hand in a negative motion and had just happened to hit the archangel’s cheek.

“Mo.” The toddler said firmly, “Sam sweepy.”

Lucifer remained taken aback for a moment. If this toddler were almost anyone else on the planet or in heaven, they would be dead right now. But, because Kevin Tran was Kevin Tran and therefore Lucifer was programmed to protect him, all the toddler gained was a dirty look.

“But I need to talk to Sam.” He pouted. This was ridiculous, really. He, the devil, was being ordered around by a two year old human that he could easily crush between his teeth. But here he was, doing as he was told. It was nothing short of embarrassing. Thank father none of his brothers could see this right now…

“Mo.” Kevin repeated, a stubborn little expression upon his features.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. Right, he couldn’t wake Sam if he wanted to keep the toddler happy. That wouldn’t be so bad if he knew where anyone was in this bunker, or knew his way around it either. He’d already gotten lost here twice, and he didn’t want to make it a third time. He sighed, deciding that he would interrogate the toddler for the whereabouts of the other Winchester.

“Then where is Dean? I need to talk to one of them.”

“Pala.” The little prophet replied, fiddling with one of the buttons on the jacket of Lucifer’s vessel.

Lucifer frowned for a moment, looking at the child.

“What is the ‘Pala’, and where is it? I need to talk to Dean.” Lucifer found his patience with this toddler growing thin.

“Deanie in the ‘pala, getting mashymallows!” Kevin repeated, getting tired of repeating himself.

Only then did Lucifer realise what Kevin was trying to tell him. Dean was in his car, the beloved impala, getting marshmallows. Presumably for Gabriel. Finally, something made sense!

“Well, let’s go find Dean then.” Lucifer put the toddler down and took his hand, using his other hand to pick up the travel cot containing Gabriel. But just as he was about to teleport away, the prophet complained.

“Mo! We stay wif Sammy! Sammy wiwl wowwy!” Kevin started protesting, pulling his hand free and sitting back at the table next to Sam.

“Kevin, no.” Lucifer’s patience had grown thin, “I can’t leave you alone with Sam because he’s sleeping. You need to come with me.”

“Mo!”

‘For father’s sake,’ Lucifer thought to himself, ‘this child is a handful.’

Thankfully, or so Lucifer thought, Kevin’s protests managed to wake up the sleeping Sam Winchester. He groggily looked up and over to the source of the protests that had woken him up.

“Kev… Kevin, what’s wrong?”

It wasn’t Kevin who replied, however.

“What happened to my brother?” a cold scowl spoke from across the room, instantly recognisable.

Sam instantly sat bolt upright, looking over at the devil stood on the other side of the kitchen.

“Lucifer? It was an accident, I swear, I’m just trying to work out what happened myself- ”

Sam was only then cut off by loud ripping and breaking noises, the shock of it causing Lucifer to fall over into the remains of the now-broken travel cot. And, of course consequently into the lap of the naked archangel Gabriel.

There was absolute silence for a few moments as everything sank in. Sam swiftly covered little Kevin’s eyes, but that changed to ears a split second later.

A baby angel was crying. And it wasn’t Gabriel, so that could only mean one thing…

Another angel had been de-aged.

Sam Winchester really hated his life sometimes.


End file.
